


Disgrace

by j_quadrifrons



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (no actual transphobia expressed), Canon Asexual Character, Dubious Consent, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation, becoming extremely dubious consent, canon-typical season 3 jonmartin feelings, explicit 'stop' ignored, fear of transphobia, implied/referenced Tim/Elias, implied/referenced Tim/Martin, implied/referenced Tim/Sasha, mild sexuality shaming, trans!Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: He'd gone into the tunnels for a bit of peace and quiet, quite honestly; there are far too many people in the Archives these days, particularly when Elias decided to pop down, "to see how the research into the Unknowing was coming along." Jon had, in fact, entirely forgotten that Tim had all but been living down there for the past several weeks. Which is hardly enough to convince Tim that he'd had no intention of spying, now that he's got Jon cornered in one of the (thankfully) worm-free passages and seems convinced that there's still some kind of confession to extract before he's willing to let him go.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker
Comments: 16
Kudos: 189
Collections: Rusty Kink





	Disgrace

**Author's Note:**

> filling a rusty-kink prompt: https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=277092#cmt277092

He'd gone into the tunnels for a bit of peace and quiet, quite honestly; there are far too many people in the Archives these days, particularly when Elias decided to pop down, "to see how the research into the Unknowing was coming along." Jon had, in fact, entirely forgotten that Tim had all but been living down there for the past several weeks. Which is hardly enough to convince Tim that he'd had no intention of spying, now that he's got Jon cornered in one of the (thankfully) worm-free passages and seems convinced that there's still some kind of confession to extract before he's willing to let him go.  
  
"What can I do to prove it to you?" Jon asks desperately, and he regrets it a second later, tasting the compulsion on his tongue and seeing the look of mingled fury and determination on Tim's face. But, god, he can't back down now. Tim will never forgive him if he backs down now.  
  
Tim glares back at him, but he has to moisten his lips with his tongue before he can answer. "How about you do what _I_ tell you to do for once," he says, "I'm sick of you dragging us all around by the questions."  
  
He's already made his decision, so he doesn't have to think about it. "Fine."  
  
"Good." Tim crowds him, then, gets close enough that Jon backs up just to be able to tilt his chin up and look Tim in the eyes, until Tim's got him backed up against the wall and he's still getting closer. It isn't until Tim slides a thigh between his legs that Jon understands what he's demanding, and he starts to stammer.  
  
"I–Tim, I don't–"  
  
Tim sneers. "Told you, this isn't about what _you_ want. For once."  
  
Jon takes a shaky breath. It's hardly what he would have chosen but then again, Tim's right. And he had agreed. "I–I don't have any. Condoms, or–"  
  
"Neither do I," Tim says, "lucky you. But I'm sure I can think of something." His hands are on Jon's waist, tugging his shirt out of his waistband, fingers almost touching where they're splayed over his back. It's–Jon doesn't know how long it's been since someone has touched so much of his bare skin at once, and this is already so much that he's genuinely afraid of how he's going to hold up under anything–else.  
  
He's been preparing himself to get on his knees, but instead Tim undoes his belt with two quick jerks and slides a hand into Jon's boxers. "Well what do you know," Tim says in a voice that would be smug if it weren't so angry, and Jon braces himself for a snide comment about _not having what he'd expected,_ but what Tim says instead is, "looks like you're a little bit of a slut after all, boss. You're dripping."  
  
A hot wave of embarrassment rolls through him; he honestly hadn't noticed, but now that Tim's said it he almost thinks he can smell the thick, heavy tang of his arousal. "It's–I can't _help_ it, it's something I–"  
  
"Shut up," Tim says, annoyed, and he clamps his other hand over Jon's mouth. He slides two fingers through the slick, then curls them, sinking them both into Jon's cunt at the same time. Jon shouts against Tim's palm; it's a lot more than he's used to. But he's wet enough that it doesn't matter, and Tim doesn't relent, just keeps pressing in and _in,_ god Tim has long fingers, until he can rub the heel of his hand against Jon's cock. Jon can't help shifting his hips into it, but Tim starts sliding his fingers back out in response.  
  
"Not bad, boss," he says, the bitterness in his voice beginning to give way to vicious satisfaction. "Better than I expected, anyway. Not as good as Sasha," he adds, almost an afterthought except for how pointed it is.  
  
Jon hears himself make a helpless, punched-out noise, and whether it's the guilty reminder of his first and worst mistake or the way Tim thrusts back in mercilessly he can't tell. He's not touching Jon's cock, now that he's proven that he could if he wanted to, just fucking him hard and fast with two fingers in his cunt and the hand on his mouth almost–but not quite–cutting off his air.  
  
"Did you know we were fucking in the stacks?" Tim asks conversationally. "I never thought you did but the way it's turned out, maybe you were watching the whole time. God, she was spectacular." He pauses for a moment, and in the breath between thoughts the sound of his fingers working in Jon's cunt is filthy and loud. "I wasn't in love with her or anything," he says, too casually, "but who knows where it might have gone? Whatever happened to that? Oh, right, she's dead." Tim thrusts in deep and grinds hard against Jon's cock as if to drive it home, and Jon comes, shaking and gasping for air as the orgasm he was in no way prepared for courses through his body.  
  
When his muscles stop clenching involuntarily Tim takes a little pity on him and takes the hand from off his mouth, moving it high on Jon's shoulder, where he can press his thumb into the artery and hold him firm against the wall. He doesn't stop moving his fingers, though, continuing with sharp shallow thrusts that have Jon wriggling to get away, painfully overstimulated. He doesn't have a chance, of course; Tim has four inches and close to fifteen kilos on him, and Jon's never been any good in a fight, even when his knees aren't turning to jelly. "Tim–"  
  
"Pathetic," Tim says, adding another finger. Jon whines and clutches at his arm, which Tim hardly seems to notice. "Honestly, you're hopeless. Martin can go for an hour before he even thinks about asking me to stop." Jon's eyes fly up to meet Tim's, and he's smirking horribly. "Sorry, didn't know about that, either? Don't tell me you're surprised."  
  
And he's not, of course he's not; Martin isn't _subtle,_ it had been perfectly clear to anyone with eyes when he'd been sleeping with Tim, but that doesn't mean he wants to _know_ –

"He wanted you but he came to me," Tim is saying, leaning in now with his elbow braced against the wall, breathing in Jon's ear. "Because he knew you couldn't give him what he needed. And he was right, wasn't he, because you can't even handle getting fingered by someone you hate without embarrassing yourself."  
  
Jon's chest is tight, he can feel his whole body winding up again, and he can barely haul in enough breath to whisper, "I don't hate you," but Tim doesn't hear him.  
  
"Martin begs so prettily for me. Doesn't matter who he's thinking of when he says my name like that." Something low and unhappy twists in Jon's gut that has nothing to do with Martin begging and everything to do with the thought of him begging for _Tim_.  
  
Tim who twists his fingers again, pressing them up inside Jon's cunt, thrusting in against a spot that sends the tension building all through him spiraling higher, faster, too fast. "Just as well he never tried it on with you, you couldn't keep up with him." A familiar guilty inadequacy lances through him at the same time as he comes again, this time in a slick, wet rush. Tim fucks him through it, growling something that Jon can't hear over the pained, helpless noises he's making and the rushing of blood in his ears.  
  
And still he _doesn't stop,_ and god, it's still so much; he's got four fingers inside Jon now and he'd be worrying about how much more Tim expects him to take except that he wants to scream with the relentless, overwhelming sensation. "Tim," he pants, and Tim makes a disappointed noise; apparently that's still no comparison to– "Please," he says, _begs_ , "stop, please stop, I can't, I can't–"  
  
"I don't care," Tim says, almost casually, thrusting inside Jon with what feels like half his hand and rubbing cruelly against his cock. "God, even Elias is a better fuck than you, at least he doesn't pretend he's not getting off on it."  
  
Jon moans, filthy and pleading, as his cunt clenches around Tim's fingers yet again and spills in another hot rush. He can't feel anything any more but the rough rhythm of Tim's fingertips on slick, oversensitive skin; he's fairly certain Tim is actually holding him up at this point. There's going to be a bruise on his neck tomorrow, which is nothing to how the rest of him is going to feel.  
  
Tim pulls his hand out of Jon's soaked pants and wipes it dismissively on his untucked shirt, which doesn't do much except ruin the rest of Jon's clothing and add to the heady scent of sex in the confined space. When he lets go Jon is just barely able to brace himself against the wall enough to turn it into a controlled slide; when his arse hits the ground he can tell that, yes, his trousers are soaked through too. He'd blush if he weren't already flushed and exhausted.  
  
When he looks up Tim is staring down at him with an unreadable expression. Which is, Jon figures, at least an improvement on unrelenting anger. "Did it help?" he asks, and his voice is so hoarse he has no control over how it sounds coming out, but there's no compulsion in it, at least.  
  
Tim's face twists back into a scowl, and he doesn't even bother with a "fuck you" before he strides off down the corridor and deeper into the tunnels.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come yell about TMA with me, I have too many feelings  
> [@j_quadrifrons](https://twitter.com/j_quadrifrons), [backofthebookshelf](https://backofthebookshelf.tumblr.com)


End file.
